The Complaint Box
by Mikael-Macbeth
Summary: XXX ONE-SHOT, Hints Xigbar/Demyx XXX Demyx is stuck with a lame assignment that Xemnas has, yet again, dumped on him. But maybe it'll yield some benefits...


_Disclaimer: I don't own KH. 'Nuff said._

**AN: Well, I'm taking a break from my hiatus (which sounds pretty stupid, actually) to post this, which I found buried at the bottom of a pile of files. D: I'll probably be posting any other one-shots I find pretty soon. C: I wrote this shortly after "DO NOT PRESS THE BUTTON," but for some reason, I forgot that I wrote it. XD If you don't like XigDem, don't read. So... enjoy!**

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"**The Complaint Box"**

**By K.L.V.—Eden**

Of the many things of which Nobodies consist, the main component was complaint.

Xemnas was no fool, of course. He knew that a waterfall of whine would eventually reach him if there didn't become an outlet of some sort, and so the Superior thought up quite a witty solution.

_"The Complaint Box."_

It was a simple tool, and he had read about it in several books on business, for it was quite the fact that Xemnas dripped bureaucracy, and he had read that it was extremely useful if one had to put up with running an industry of some sort. The Complaint Box would sit quietly in its little designated area and await anonymous slips of paper to come tumbling in, and Xemnas would examine these complaints, taking into consideration their importance. Then, perhaps, if they had valid points to make, then perhaps he would make the necessary changes to keep everyone happy, healthy, and not breathing down his neck.

Unfortunately, the Box was all but forgotten by the Superior as time moved ever onward. Plotting took up at least ninety percent of his time (while the remaining ten percent was tediously divided into reading, concocting divine speeches, and tending to his utmost ominous figure), and trivial matters such as boxes housing pointless fusses came second.

So it was on one particularly nonexistent day, one in which the matters of plotting, reading, concocting, and tending had run terribly thin, that Xemnas happened upon the Complaint Box with a groan. Xemnas wasn't one to consider dirtying his hands with silly little random jobs, and certainly he could fit a little extra concocting somewhere in his day to create a viable loophole to not check the box personally. So of course, he would have a little… _monkey_ do it for him.

Enter Demyx, Number IX, the Melodious Nocturne.

Since initiation, Demyx had become something of an oddity amongst the ranks of the Organization. For example, whereas most members of the esteemed Organization much preferred the peace and quiet of a good book or longing glare at the moon, IX had a terrible habit of playing loud music, thus asserting an individuality of some kind. Demyx was also infamous for having the foulest of mood swings; he could be the most shining example of sweet boyish adolescence, and the next he could be sulking the corner, followed by a threat with a switchblade to one's neck. In addition to all that, stirring up many a commotion of paranoia amongst all of the other members seemed to be a specialty for IX, as he was always nervous and uneasy when it came to mission assignments and fighting. In short, Demyx seemed to be the least combative and most submissive of the members, thus making him an easy target when dumping chores.

"Number IX, I have an assignment for you."

Demyx had been plucking absently at his sitar strings, staring up at the ceiling, his lips pursed in thought. He had almost had those lyrics back in his head from his last venture in the Coliseum, but they had long since slipped past the cerebellum and floated on down the currents of brain-waves on to perhaps someone else more worthy. He hoped that worthy someone would take good care of that thought, and nurture it all it needed.

"Yessir?" Demyx answered, sitting up and pushing his sitar to the side.

Xemnas grinned, fingering the drab white box he had in his hands. Xemnas didn't take kindly to defiance, and Demyx seemingly had a spine with the strength of a newborn puppy. Not to mention he was gullible. Perhaps if Xemnas told him that word wasn't in the dictionary, that _"gullible,"_ perhaps he would believe him. It would amuse him momentarily, at least.

"I need you to go through these… important documents. You see, they are crucial to the workings of the Organization. They are requests from the other members, and it is vital that you return to me the most important of these requests as soon as possible; otherwise, there may become a terrible uproar of demolishing proportions. You understand your assignment, correct?"

"Oh, yessir. No problem," Demyx replied, nimbly hopping from his perch on the bed and taking the box gingerly from the Superior.

The older Nobody eyed him with orange optics, then announced, "If you have any questions, or once you have completed the mission, report to me in my chambers."

Xemnas left Demyx then, and the Nocturne looked over the box.

Now, though Xemnas was no fool, Demyx was no fool, either.

Demyx knew for a fact that he had to watch his back in this place. Be it that he was too considerate of others' feelings (or whatever one may wish to call then) to defend himself, or that he was just too naïve, Demyx often found that he was stuck with the crap that the other members weren't willing to stoop down to do.

Seriously, he had learned that the first time with that stupid button. Xigbar still got onto him about how stupid he had been. Oddly, it… hurt when Xigbar poked fun at him. It never seemed as painful with anyone else when it was pointed out that he was a failure, but it hit a soft spot on him when II did that.

Anyway, unimportant thoughts aside, Demyx plopped back on his bed, ripped off the lid, and poured its contents down onto the mattress. A rain of papers came sailing down onto his comforter, and he huffed, already feeling impatience eat away at him. Sure, he was a pretty patient guy when it came to some things, and he certainly was not lazy, but all of this was just ridiculous.

However, Xemnas had given him this thing to do, and, though it was probably just busy-work, he would do it.

"The walk of a thousand miles begins with the first step," Demyx told himself, trying to get into a calming mindset, as he raised the first slip up to read it.

In loopy, extravagant crimson pen was written, _"More sea-salt ice cream."_

Of course, the penman was quite obviously Axel, who seemingly had a fetish with the stuff, but Demyx would never say that little nugget of thought aloud.

He pushed the complaint to the right, mentally noting to make it the "I-might-consider-it" pile.

The second slip had the same gaudy style of writing, and simply said, _"Kill Marluxia."_

An entertaining gesture, but Demyx had never considered Marluxia as a target of potential destruction. Besides, Demyx couldn't consider _anyone_ a target of potential destruction. He just wasn't a violent kinda guy. Of course, he could get pretty snippy at times (Axel himself could vouch for this), but he wasn't about to slash someone's neck with garden shears. That would just be cruel.

To the left he dropped the slip, in the "No-way" pile, and reached out his hand and grabbed another one.

_"Xemnas sucks."_

Hmm.

How would Axel find the time to write all of these silly complaints between stalking Roxas and playing _anarchist-extraordinaire_?

Pushing that one aside, he managed to pick out something that actually didn't belong to Axel. This one was written in neat, brown, block letters, and rather politely read, _"More books in the library, please."_

Demyx wasn't too big on reading himself, as he was usually too busy writing his own things to be bothered with messing around with other works; however, he knew that many of the members were fond of reading, as it gave them a distraction from the usual routine of staring out the windows longingly at the huge black sky before them, with its milky white-and-yellow moon shining at it center. With this in mind, he set it off to the side, and continued on with another one.

It was around this time that Demyx began to feel oddly… uncomfortable, though he couldn't quite pinpoint the object of his suddenly aroused paranoia. Still, Demyx was Demyx, and he usually always felt a rising sense of paranoia, whether conscious or subconscious.

He decidedly brushed the feeling away and looked over the next complaint, which outlined the great discomfort of the couches in the lounge, and then he soon scooped up another one berating the dysfunction of the coffee-maker. Two more contained insults about other members, in the same over-done writing in the same red pen, and one in blue specifically stated, _"Shut Axel up."_ Jokingly, Demyx mulled over the idea of placing it in the consideration pile, but thought better of it. One even distinctly outlined the need to ban musical instruments, which Demyx immediately shredded without even a sliver of remorse. No doubt, a certain someone had most certainly written that one whilst on a certain cycle that occurs once a month, though Demyx wasn't about to explore the physical abilities or non-abilities of Nobodies.

He trudged through, and finally, _mercifully_, he was finished. Two neat little piles had been created, the left a mountain of insults and random whinings, the other a simple four or five slips that seemed sensible enough to which he could empathize. He felt rather accomplished, actually, which was nice considering it was rather difficult to feel accomplished in this non-existent state.

Suddenly, and without even the slightest hint of a warning, Demyx got that same nagging feeling as before. He stood awkwardly and pushed the considered complaints back in the Box while discarding the others in the trash-receptacle and headed for the door. He was ready to leave as soon as possible to report to Xemnas that he was done with his (crappy) mission when that odd feeling, now nearly unbearable, made him turn back.

There, sitting quietly on the bed, appeared to be one missing complaint.

IX had been certain he hadn't overlooked anything. For a moment, fear clutched at him, but he pushed the numbed emotion from him. There was no need to become all irrational over this now; he had simply missed it. Yeah… That was it. That was totally it.

However, the Nocturne found himself trembling a bit, the Box rattling with its contents as he did so. Cautiously, the Nocturne approached the tiny sheet of paper, his hand shakily reaching out to snatch it from its rather comfortable-looking position upon his bed. With one hand, he awkwardly undid the neatly-folded thing and read the radically scrawled violet writing with a lump in his throat.

_"Be mine."_

The two simple words on the slip, a total of six letters with a single space separating them two-to-four, made no sense to IX within the first few seconds of their viewing. Demyx was no idiot, but after being a Nobody for so long, the concept of belonging slips ones mind after some time.

However, what did register was that this was no complaint, and upon wiping a finger over the penmanship, the ink smudged, signifying that it had just recently been written. And, as far as he could see, there was no one present in the room at the current time. And, perhaps, taking into account what the phrase could mean, given their dictionary meanings, Demyx could only guess that they had some sort of malicious intent.

It could all only mean one thing:

_Ghosts._

"…Hello…?" the Nocturne managed, turning on his heel to gather a view of the room, his paranoia reaching a new high. Of course, if there were ghosts, then there would be no way to see them, thus rendering his eyesight useless. However, he wasn't exactly sure that ghosts even existed, or could even _write_ so neatly for that matter, thus rendering his paranoia useless. Still, becoming a being without a heart opened up all sorts of supernatural options to the mind.

Holding fast to the Box in one hand, he groped for his sitar with the other, all while saying, "Seriously, I _have_ a weapon, so you… you better not mess with me!" rather feebly.

"Wow, Nocturne, I don't even have to _mess_ with ya to freak ya out."

Demyx, having reached a new and terrifying breaking point, swung his body wholly about, sitar, Box, and all, then, having no balance prepared for that sort of motion, fell with a thundering thud on his back. Staring up into a yellow, snide eye, he realized that his paranoia stemmed not from ghosts, but from something much less harmless.

…Or more, he wasn't sure.

"Xigbar, you—are you _trying_ to kill me?"

From his position on the ceiling, the Freeshooter shrugged, which looked like a rather awkward gesture from where Demyx was lying flat on his back.

"Maybe" was the nonchalant response.

Demyx really wouldn't put it past the guy. Xigbar seemed like the backstabbing type. Or perhaps he was the sort of red-herring; one would expect it out of him, only to be completely surprised that, by the end, he was the only loyal one the entire time.

…Ugh, he really needed to stop watching all of those mystery movies.

It was at this time that Demyx recalled the slip of paper, and, sitting up, held it out for II to see.

"Do you know what this is?" Demyx questioned, though he tried not to be too accusing. He knew from whence it had to have come, but he wasn't about to go pointing fingers all willy-nilly.

Swooping from his perch, Xigbar landed rather gracefully, and gingerly snatched the paper from the Nocturne's fingers. He looked it over a moment, and, with a knowing smile, said, and without a trace of guilt, "Nope, never seen it before."

"…Are you _sure_?"

Xigbar shrugged, yet again, dripping nonchalance.

"Well, what if I have?"

Obviously, this was going to turn into some kind of game, like all things pertaining to the Freeshooter. Anything done with him had to eventually boil down to some sort of cat-and-mouse type deal, in which, of course, Xigbar was always the cat. Demyx didn't take kindly to being compared to a mouse, but then again, it matched his demeanor very nicely.

Not to say this mouse didn't have teeth.

"If you have seen it, you should confess and save all sorts of time that would otherwise be spent arguing back and forth, after which we would both get all flustered, and then we'd stop talking to each other, and then we would have to have some sort of intervention with Axel, and, well, he never makes anything better, and eventually it would all spiral downward into a pit as hot as the fires of Hell, though I have theorized that maybe Hell isn't really all that—"

"Okay, okay, geez, kid, I get your point," Xigbar cut in, holding out his hands in a gesture of surrender. Afterwards, he rested his hands on his hips, the eyebrow over his good eye raised. "I _have_ seen it before. Happy?"

Demyx decidedly pressed no further, but chose instead to hoist the Complaint Box back under an arm, the other situating his sitar into a leaning position against the wall. Stuffing the slip of paper into one of the many pockets located on his standard-issue Organization robe, he shifted the Box into a more comfortable position, and began waltzing on toward the door.

"_Would you_?"

Turning at the question, Demyx could see that Xigbar, with his arms now crossed and his golden eye gleaming, seemed to be expectantly waiting. Waiting for what, the Nocturne was absolutely certain.

"Stay here… and I'll think it over."

And with no more words to be spoken, IX twisted on his heel to deliver the Box back to Xemnas.

Had the assignment been so utterly pointless after all?

Well, Demyx was positive it hadn't been.


End file.
